


Don't get careless

by kamicchis



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Established [kind of] relationship, M/M, Pre-Canon, Self-Destructive Tendencies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-27 04:04:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18296471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamicchis/pseuds/kamicchis
Summary: Shishido was still and silent, unsure of what to do, what he even wanted to do, how to do it, and how to show up to practice the next morning as if everything was still the same.





	Don't get careless

Lightning ripped through the sky, the loud, deafening crack of thunder following mere seconds afterwards. Ohtori flinched, his grip on the damp, dirty tennis ball tightening. 

 

“Shishido-san, we should really—” 

 

“Choutarou!” 

 

Ohtori swallowed, his other hand thumbing the grip tape of his racket that hardly served its purpose in the downpour. Ohtori and Shishido were cursed when it came to their games and practices--they found themselves faced with less than ideal conditions often, usually in the form of rain, no matter how nice the weather was earlier. 

 

But even Ohtori knew that this storm was too much; and they needed to get inside. It was getting late. In fact, they were out far later than they usually were.  _ Today _ of all days.

 

“I’m not serving to you anymore, Shishido-san!” Ohtori cried back. Shishido stood on the other side of the net, hands out in front of him. His long hair glued to forehead, his ponytail a damp clump that stuck to his shoulder. Shishido was completely drenched. At least Ohtori had the extra layer of their team track jacket, but Shishido wore only the jersey. The fabric clung to his body tight like a second layer of skin, dripping miserably down his arms and legs.

 

“Why?” Shishido demanded, readjusting his pose to enforce that he was not going to budge. “When has the rain ever stopped us before?”

 

“This is too much.” Ohtori replied, his voice muted by the continuous pitter patter of the rain on the street court. “You know my house is only few block from here, let’s just—” 

 

“No!” Shishido yelled back. 

 

Ohtori bit his lip, his racket slipping from his hands and clattering to the ground in an awkward fumble. He didn’t bother to try and catch it, his gaze casting downwards. His chest ached with frustration. He wanted to storm off, leave Shishido behind. Ohtori wanted to yell and call him an idiot for being so careless, though they both would know it was an empty insult. He wanted to tell him that he was cold too, and that he couldn’t feel his toes anymore.

 

But he could never. 

 

He clenched his chest with his hand, now free, though the dull throb seldom seized. Shishido was so terribly stubborn, and it broke his heart.

 

Shishido stood up properly, hands balled into fists as he stormed around the net onto Ohtori’s side of the court. His heavy step rivaled the thunder, and Ohtori thought that maybe he was mad enough to grab him by the collar, to call  _ him _ stupid.

 

Shishido inhaled, then exhaled. Loudly. “Choutarou.” He said.

 

Ohtori looked up.

 

Somehow, as their eyes met, Shishido’s expression softened. 

 

“Idiot.” Shishido muttered, grabbing Ohtori’s hand. “You should have told me you were cold.” The tennis ball slipped from his fingertips, falling to the ground with a double bounce before rolling to who-cares-where because suddenly  _ Shishido-san was holding his hand in public _ . 

 

Only then did Ohtori realize that he was shivering. Shishido’s calloused palms cupped his large hand, rubbing it between his own. It felt sticky and terrible, and by no means did it provide any additional warmth as Shishido was just as damp and miserable as he was. If it wasn’t for the slick of the rain, Ohtori knew that the friction would hurt. Shishido’s hands were terribly rough, especially given his new proclaimed training regime of catching dirty, damp tennis balls with his bare hands.

 

His heart thumped painfully in his chest again. 

 

_ Shishido was so stubborn.  _

 

“Shishido-san, we’re still…” Ohtori offered quietly, wondering how bizarre it would look to any passersby that they were standing in the middle of a tennis court in the pouring rain holding hands. He scolded himself quietly. This was hardly holding hands—this was Shishido taking  _ pity _ on him. On Ohtori. 

 

It was Shishido that was working himself far harder than any normal person should. Even for a [former] regular of Hyotei. If Atobe caught them out in the rain like this, if he caught Shishido being pelted repeatedly with tennis balls, even he would scold him for being too careless. 

 

Shishido Ryou. His senpai.

 

The older boy who had yet to let go of his hand, thinking that somehow this would warm Ohtori up instead of  _ actually _ going inside.  

 

Why was he the one pitying Ohtori?

 

Ohtori found himself glad it was raining, as water dripping down from his fringe across his face masked well with the tears welling in his eyes. 

 

With his free hand, Ohtori reached out to pull Shishido against his chest. Shishido let out a quiet gasp of surprise, standing dead still within his one arm embrace. Shishido’s damp hair stuck to Ohtori’s cheek. Even with the strong musk of the rain, Ohtori could smell whatever product Shishido used in his hair earlier that day. 

 

It was becoming all too familiar.

 

“That’s enough, Shishido-san.” He murmured, closing his eyes tight to ward off the tears that stung his waterline. “Let’s go inside.” 

 

Dumbfounded, Shishido nodded. 

  
  
  
  


Whatever the  _ hell  _ clicked in Ohtori’s jumbled, far-too-emotional-for-his-liking brain on the five minute jog back to his place was to be damned, he decided, because the second they got inside Ohtori’s room, the taller boy was in tears.

 

Stepping inside Ohtori’s family home moments earlier, they had been greeted by his sister who was surprised to see Shishido show up unannounced. But above surprised, she was irritated—yelling after Ohtori as they went upstairs for them to get changed and clean up before they tracked mud all over the house.

 

Ohtori had felt it then. He was a pipe about to burst. His heart hammered so fast within his chest he thought he would expire and perish before they even got into his bedroom. But thankfully, it happened  _ after _ the fact—and the moment the lock clicked, Ohtori burst into tears. 

 

“C-Choutarou?!” Shishido exclaimed, turning to face him in a panic. He still had his damn tennis bag hauled over his shoulder. Still. 

 

Ohtori stared at him, then stared at the bag, then felt his face contort in every which direction before he turned his gaze to the floor. 

 

“What’s the matter? Are you cold?” Shishido asked, stupidly. 

 

“ _ Of course I’m cold! _ ” Ohtori exclaimed, his voice spilling over with emotion. “Am I  _ cold? _ It’s autumn and we’ve been outside in the pouring rain for the past three hours! I can’t feel my hands!” He cried. “I’m cold and you’re careless and I’m enabling you to act like an idiot and you’re going to get sick now and it’s going to be my fault because I should have said something but I didn’t because I know how much practice means to you and that —that m-makes me more mad b-because you’d rather be  _ pummeling yourself _ with tennis balls in the pouring rain than take care of yourself and it … it hurts me to see you value yourself so little when I—” Ohtori blubbered on, though words now escaped him and he leaned back against the door with shaking shoulders. He slid down, rubbing his eyes with his damp sleeve as he gave up with words and settled for sobs.

 

“Woah, woah.” Shishido responded cautiously, particularly startled when Ohtori’s butt hit the floor and he pulled up his knees to his chest. “Uh—I… why don’t I get us both a change of clothes first?”  

 

Ohtori said nothing, trying to pull himself together before anything else spilled out of his mouth unwarranted. He could hear Shishido fumbling around in his closet, looking for a change of clothes for the both of them. At this point, Shishido stayed over often enough that he had a spare set of clothes tucked away in a small duffel bag in case he arrived unprepared. Just in case they stayed out in the rain too long. Just in case. 

 

Shishido emerged a moment later, holding a folded tee and some sweatpants. He placed his hand on Ohtori’s shoulder, offering him the clothes in a nervous gesture. 

 

“Are these okay?” Shishido asked. 

 

Ohtori nodded, taking the clothes, not bothering to even look at the garments that Shishido had grabbed. They were warm and something other than his soaked clothes, which was all that mattered. From where he sat he began to strip, peeling off his jersey with great discomfort. His skin was damp with sweat and rainwater, red and chaffed from the irritation of the wet fabric. He noticed that the shirt Shishido had grabbed was one that Ohtori wore to bed often, a blue t-shirt that hung loose on his lanky frame. The sweat pants accompanying were also picked out in clear thought, being a pair he also wore frequently when lounging around the house. He didn’t think of Shishido to be one to notice something like that. 

 

Just thinking about his senpai was making him feel more emotional. 

 

While Ohtori was lost in thought, Shishido had also gotten changed. He managed to find a towel in his closet, and was now sitting on the edge of Ohori’s bed drying his hair with it. Ohtori bit his lip, finally standing up. His legs throbbed in protest, yet another reminder how they sometimes,  _ oftentimes _ , got too carried away with their matches. 

 

Ohtori felt the embarrassing sting of a fresh batch of tears threatening to fall. He cried too much in front of Shishido, and at this point, just looking at the other boy was upsetting him for reasons he didn’t want to think about. 

 

Because  _ that _ was too complicated. 

 

“Shishido-san, I…” Ohtori started. 

 

“Come sit.” Shishido interrupted, patting the bed with his rough hand. 

 

Ohtori shook his head instantly. “Y-You can have my room, I’ll go sleep on the couch.” He said. 

 

“What? No!” Shishido retorted. “Why on earth would you —”

 

“I can’t!” 

 

Shishido blinked, dumbfounded. Ohtori was shaking his head, forethought tears now spilling freely down his cheeks.  He couldn’t what? 

 

Ohtori _ couldn’t _ say that he can’t even stand to look at Shishido right now without crying in frustration.  

 

“I can’t, I can’t, Shishido-san I —” standing up was suddenly very difficult, and Ohtori found himself sitting on the far edge of the bed, as far away from Shishido as he could muster. 

 

Shishido didn’t get the clue. Of course he didn’t. He instantly scooched over to Ohtori’s side, taking his trembling hand within his own. His other arm wrapped around his shoulders, offering a hug just as Ohtori had done an hour prior. But this was warm, dry;  _ and _ it was Shishido-san initiating it. 

 

“Hey, it’s alright.” Shishido offered gently, rubbing his thumb across Ohtori’s knuckles. The pad of his finger was rough and calloused. Ohtori couldn’t help but migrate to the source of comfort, curling up against him and pressing his face into Shishido’s neck. The older boy stopped breathing for a moment; but finally let out a soft sigh and continued to rub his back. “It’s alright.”

 

This was where things got difficult. This was where their emotions steered from anything familiar. Ohtori’s heart hummed steadfast in his chest, a constant vibration that made the lining of his throat curl. Shishido was still and silent, unsure of what to do, what he even  _ wanted _ to do, how to do it, and how to show up to practice the next morning as if everything was still the same. 

 

But it already wasn’t. They both knew that. Shishido’s fingers splaying across his back in soothing circular motions brought comfort and a shudder, something familiar yet withheld, and Ohtori curled into him. 

 

Being pressed so close to Shishido was comforting. His face was in his neck. His skin was damp with sweat and rain. Ohtori’s mouth, though innocently restless, could taste the dirt on his neck. 

 

And then Ohtori kissed him there.

 

Shishido gasped, and a loud clap of thunder shook the room. 

 

They both tensed, Shishido’s grip tightening on Ohtori’s shirt. The threat of the storm passed but Shishido didn't let go, but rather pressed closer. His loose, damp hair tickled Ohtori's ear. 

 

“Look at me.” Shishido swallowed. 

 

It took all of his willpower to look up, meeting Shishido’s unreadable, violet stare. 

 

His hand lifted from Ohtori's, resting gently on his cheek. His skin was rough but his touch was impossibly soft. “I’m sorry.” He murmured, though his voice was gentle, Ohtori could see the twitch of his lip as he admitted defeat. 

 

“No, Shishido-san, I was the one that—” 

 

Ohtori couldn’t finish, as Shishido's lips sealed his own. 

 

His stomach churned so violently that he felt as if he would lurch out all of the rainwater that had accumulated through his pores. 

 

But it was over in an instant, and Shishido was staring at him again. 

 

“No, I was the one being stupid, and it upset you.” Shishido whispered, stroking Ohtori's cheek reassuringly, though his fingers trembled. “I need to acknowledge that. I’m sorry.” 

 

Ohtori didn't know what else to say. His heart was beating a million miles a minute. Never had they _actually_ kissed before, just the occasional embrace that lasted a few moments too long to be normal between two teenage boys, just the long but gentle stares, just the silent rutting against one another when they pressed too close in the middle of the night on the small mattress, that neither of them dared to speak a word of the next morning. 

 

It felt as if a pin prick relieved the pressure in his chest. 

 

He just nodded. 

 

“Shishido-san, can I kiss you again?” He asked weakly. 

 

There were sparks in Shishido’s eyes. “Ryou.” The older boy corrected. 

 

Ohtori blinked. 

 

“Only if you call me Ryou, when we’re… y’know.” Shishido gestured vaguely, clearly embarrassing himself as his cheeks ignited. “Like this.” 

 

“R-Ryou-senpai—” Ohtori offered, embarrassed, and Shishido burst out laughing. 

 

“No, no. No honorifics!” He laughed, pressing his forehead affectionately into Ohtori’s cheek. They were close. “Try again.” 

 

Using Shishido’s given name was something he’d never considered saying, or being able to say. Shishido was his senpai, and they had only been a doubles pair for a few months. There was no way he could call him that.

 

“I-I…” 

 

Shishido let out an amused sigh, sealing their lips together again to spare Ohtori the trouble. 

 

It was weird. Their teeth clacked and their lips didn’t fit together in absolute _ utter perfection _ as Ohtori had always fantasized that they would. But that hardly mattered. He immediately pressed back, worried that if he didn’t show his own eagerness that Shishido would pull away again. He let out a soft gasp of surprise, fingers curling against Ohtori’s own. 

In a strange way, it  _ was _ perfect. 

 

“Choutarou.” Shishido breathed. He pushed into Ohtori’s chest, and they both fell back against the bed. Ohtori could tell that the older was horribly embarrassed, the heat radiating from his cheeks could be felt on Ohtori’s own; and as their legs shifted and their bodies pressed together, Ohtori could see why. 

 

Shishido was hard. 

 

“Sorry.” He mumbled miserably against his mouth. They laid on their sides, facing one another. Ohtori’s leg shifted up between Shishido’s own, applying a gentle pressure. An offering. “H-Hey, it’s okay, we don’t have to…” 

 

“No.” Ohtori whispered, satisfied to be the one interrupting Shishido this time. “I want to.”

 

“Your sister might hear—” Shishido warned, but found his lips sealed into silence by Ohtori’s. He made the right call, as his thigh rubbing against his pelvis moments later had Shishido trembling in arms, soft cries muffled only by the tender press of his lips. 

 

Their mouths were sealed in what was hardly even a kiss. They began to rut against each other, just as they did in the middle of the night when they both found themselves awake from the heat of the summer evenings. There was something so much more satisfying about being able to kiss him, hold nothing back, moan in the pleasure that his senpai gave him. 

 

It was everything.  _ He _ was everything.

 

Even if he could be stupid sometimes. 

 

Only minutes later, they were both spent. Their shirts were hiked half way up their torsos, their sweatpants soiled and sweat making them feel just as sticky as they were an hour ago. Shishido breathed heavily, weak in his arms. Ohtori kissed his forehead. 

 

“Shishido-san…” 

 

Shishido’s fingers played with the hem of Ohtori’s shirt. “Let’s go to a movie tomorrow. Or something.” He suggested. 

 

“After doubles practice?” Ohtori asked. 

 

“Mm.” Shishido nodded. He pressed his face into Ohtori’s collar. “I guess that means we shouldn’t get too carried away.” He mumbled. 

 

Ohtori smiled. 


End file.
